Deck the Halls
by InSilva
Summary: December, London, friendship and the con: God bless us, everyone.  One-shot.


Deck the Halls by InSilva

Disclaimer: do not own any Ocean's character

Summary: December, London, friendship and the con: God bless us, everyone.

A/N: Door Number 11 of the 2011 Advent Calendar

* * *

><p>"You sure about this?" Basher asked for about the seventh time.<p>

Danny and Rusty dropping in all unexpected usually involved hitting pubs and clubs. And them dropping in in late December meant taking in the over-the-top Oxford Street glitz, meant inventing dubious cocktails and if they stayed long enough, it meant standing on Westminster Bridge and listening to Big Ben count in Christmas. It certainly didn't involve Dougie, Joseph and Tony King gatecrashing plans by rolling up and asking for help.

"Bash, we're sure," Danny said once again, sitting on the kitchen table and sipping the glass of mulled wine.

Rusty mumbled something through his third mince pie that might be translated as _"We're sure, Bash, and stop asking"_. Or it could have been _"We're out of brandy butter"_. Basher decided to go with the former.

"OK." Basher glanced through the open lounge door where all three King brothers were sat on the couch, waiting for a decision like guests at Don Corleone's daughter's wedding. "OK. Let's go and talk to 'em."

* * *

><p>The Kings ran a Chinese restaurant in Leyton called <em>"Star of the Orient"<em> which Basher frequented. Apparently, from time to time, they were squeezed for money by some low-level low-life called the Halls and this was one of those times. Right before Christmas and they had a final demand which ran into five figures.

"They've been pressuring loads of places in the area. They broke Tom Smith's leg - he runs _"Crackers". _And they torched the Three Ships last week," Dougie King said. "Just because Noel couldn't meet the payment."

"We can't meet it either," Tony King sighed gloomily. "Don't matter how much chow mein we churn out, we're not going to get the numbers they're looking for."

"They took Tiny Tim by way of security," Joe added equally mournfully and then at three unblinking stares, added, "that's me wife's Chihuahua."

"Yeah, and his wife's gonna drop one any day now," Tony said, "so we don't want her upset."

"We've been keeping it from her but I don't know how long that's gonna last," Dougie confided.

"And we know you're a proper villain, Bash," Joe King said earnestly. "We reckoned you might be able to think of something."

"Yeah," Dougie said enthusiastically. "Something heinous."

Basher kept his eyes firmly away from Danny and Rusty who were laughing loudly where no one could hear.

"It's Chris Hall who's running it," Tony King explained. "Well. Carol's behind Chris, of course."

"Carol?" Danny interjected. He and Rusty had been introduced as "sound blokes" and he felt that probably bought them questioning rights.

"Chris' ma's Carol," Joe said. "She's been driving the racket for years. Took over when her old man snuffed it. "

"When's the deadline?" Rusty asked.

"Three days," the three Kings chorused.

Christmas Eve. Danny and Rusty exchanged glances. They'd had shorter lead times.

* * *

><p>"According to Basher," Rusty said, "the Halls live up in Harrow in a mock Tudor gaff called the Stables. Security fenced and gated but no men in the house itself. Bash reckons he can get himself in."<p>

"A gaff?" Danny queried. It was the day after and they were sitting in Basher's kitchen and he was watching Rusty work his way through a slice of Yule log.

"_Think_ it's a house. Or else Bash thinks retro-architecture is a big mistake."

Danny nodded. His eyes were still on the chocolate icing disappearing into Rusty's mouth. The residue was considerable. It was probably good that they were on their own.

"We got sight of their assets yet?"

"Bash is on it," Rusty said indistinctly.

"You enjoying that?" Danny asked unnecessarily.

"Wondering where the Yule trees are planted," Rusty grinned and ran a finger round his lips to scoop up the buttercream.

Danny gave himself a mental shake. "Basher calling Livingston?"

"He said he was trying Roman. Local knowledge and all that."

On cue, Basher returned, clutching carrier bags which he deposited on the table.

"What we got, Bash?" Danny asked.

"We got cold extremities, that's what we've got," Basher said, stamping his feet. "It's bloody freezing out there."

He unpacked one of the bags carefully and putting unremarkable lumps of white _some_thing on the table. "They've got a string of sports cars plus several thousand in the bank. Carol's the speed demon. Chris loves his gadgets. Both of them like to unwind at the Golden Gate Casino. "

Rusty was staring at the white. "What…?"

"Cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine," Basher said by way of explanation.

"Easy for you to say," Danny muttered before adding hopefully, "Explosive?"

"Very," Basher nodded.

Rusty was investigating one of the other bags and straightened up with a happy expression on his face and a packet of Lebkuchen in his hands.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Oh, you just spoil him."

Basher wasn't going to let that lie. "Like you don't?"

Danny changed the subject hurriedly. "What else did you pick up?"

"Roman let me have this." Basher reverently produced a small silver box.

"_Let_ you?" Rusty checked. It didn't sound like Roman.

Basher shrugged. "I told him it was you two. He's says your credit's good. Until after the job anyway."

"What is it?" Danny frowned at the box.

"Watch." Basher flicked a switch and a light beam emerged. He placed his hand in its path and a red light scanned it. Then the top opened up and a hologram of Basher's hand appeared.

"That's a nice toy," Rusty said. "Chris is gonna love it."

"It's smoke and mirrors," Basher explained. "Red light's just for effect. You record whatever and it holds one image at a time for playback. It don't work spontaneously."

Danny looked at Rusty. "You want to take the mother or the son?"

"Is that a serious question?"

Danny blinked at the amusement in Rusty's voice. What was he missing?

"You really want to go up against a technophile and win?"

Oh. _That_ was what he was missing. His professional pride prickled slightly.

"Well, I could-"

"By tomorrow?"

Huh.

"Alright," he gave in. "I'll wine and dine Carol."

"And find Tiny Tim," Rusty reminded him.

Danny looked at him suspiciously but Rusty's face was a picture of innocence.

* * *

><p>The Golden Gate Casino: two accidental meetings, an all out charm assault on one hand and on the other, a conversation over whisky that seeded intrigue and <em>two<em> invitations to meet up again the next day.

Rusty was going to lunch with Chris. Danny was going to dinner with Carol. All was going to plan.

* * *

><p>Chris Hall was short and pugnacious and new money enough to be in awe of the Harvard-educated, bespectacled, besuited, softly-spoken engineer. They'd met by chance and sat and discussed gambling systems at the Golden Gate bar and now as they sat in the chi-chi Italian restaurant, Henry Jordan was talking about cutting-edge technology and Chris was hanging on his every word.<p>

"I really shouldn't be talking about this," Henry said, taking a sip of his Chardonnay. "If my company found out I was talking about this…well. There would be Consequences."

Chris heard the capital "C". It made him want the secret more. He topped up the wine-glass and smiled. "I don't think I really count. Not like I'm in industry."

Henry gave a little laugh and drank more wine. "Does that mean it doesn't matter? No, really, I shouldn't."

Another bottle later and Henry was agreeing to bring the new invention back to the Stables.

"Not like I carry it on me." Henry blinked happily at the address Chris had scribbled down. "I'll come round with it tonight."

Chris grinned. "Can't wait."

* * *

><p>Carol checked her reflection in the mirror. She'd always taken care of herself. She'd never been afraid to help Nature with a little nip and tuck, a little Botox, a little cosmetic restructuring. And that meant that she could pass for at least ten years younger. Men still fell at her feet. Men like that charming American from last night who was in town for a few nights and was looking to spend some time and money relaxing. Carol was quite happy to help him with that objective.<p>

The doorbell rang and she checked her watch. Michael was on time. That was a good sign. Meant he was keen.

She smiled at herself. She'd still got it.

* * *

><p>Answering the door, she found one more visitor than she'd anticipated on the doorstep.<p>

"We, er, we came together." Michael looked as startled as she did and then added hurriedly, "two cabs."

"I'm Henry Jordan," the geek in the suit blinked, clutching a briefcase to his chest. "I'm here to see Chris?"

Footsteps padded behind her. "Chris is here, Chris is here. Come on in, Henry, we can go up to my office. My mother's just on her way out."

Carol's mouth thinned and then she recovered. "Come along, Michael. Let's take the Jag."

As he climbed into the passenger seat of the E-type, she started the engine and smiled coyly at him. "Fasten your seatbelt. It's going to be a bumpy night."

* * *

><p>Chris's eyes kept being drawn to the mysterious briefcase. After pleasantries and coffees, Henry had insisted on starting with the theory behind whatever was inside. He was covering sheets and sheets of notepaper with scribble and formulae and the technobabble was getting more and more intense.<p>

"This," Henry said, looking him straight in the eyes, "is big."

Chris nodded, eyes wide.

He clicked open the briefcase and pulled out a small, silver box. "This, Chris, is the future."

* * *

><p>Carol had enjoyed the drive as she always did. The late departed Joshua Hall had taught her to drive, fast and furious. <em>"Drive like a man, Carol," <em>Josh had said. And she did. Michael had sat beside her, his eyes never leaving the road ahead and he had been impressed, she could tell.

Now, they had had a lovely meal at the Ivy, some lovely flirting and Michael was back at the house, sitting in her drawing-room where the fire was lit and sipping a whisky. Carol had a glass of brandy in her hand and was sitting and laughing at Michael's jokes and she was moving closer along the couch. The drawing-room was next door to the bedroom and there was no way she was having a silent night.

* * *

><p>Down in the other wing, Chris was marvelling at the little box of holograms that had reproduced Henry's hand effortlessly. And then Henry had got the wind up and had packed it away and had been all for leaving. It had taken Chris a lot of fast talking and wine and cheese and biscuits to calm Henry down.<p>

Now, Chris was doing his very best to find out what Henry's price was. He liked the shiny toy and if he didn't understand all of the science behind it all, that didn't matter overly.

"Come on, Henry…"

The sound of an almighty explosion drowned out his words.

"Stay here," Chris instructed Henry. "I'll be right back."

* * *

><p>"Stay put," Carol insisted. "I'll be right back."<p>

Danny watched her disappear to investigate Basher's handiwork and then he began the systematic search starting with the bedroom. Where would a Chihuahua be hiding?

* * *

><p>The second Chris had left the room, Rusty moved round to the laptop on Chris's desk and fired it up. He plugged the silver box into it and waited for it to (a) crack the password and (b) access all areas. It had worked its magic successfully when he heard the knock on the window pane.<p>

Unlikely to be Santa Claus. And Rusty doubted any of Chris and Carol's minions would enter via the balcony. He pocketed the box with the data and crossed to the window. Cautiously, he drew back the drapes to see Joe King outside. He opened the balcony doors and let him in.

"Thanks," Joe said gratefully. "Thought Chris would never go."

"What are you doing here?" Rusty hissed.

"Me wife," Joe said unhappily. "She's only gone and found out about the bloody dog and she came up here to find it. And now I've come to find her."

"How did she get through security?"

"No idea. But she can be very determined."

"How did _you _get through security?"

Joe brightened. "Spotted Basher. Waited till he was inside and then I followed him in. That was his fireworks, right?"

"Right."

"Thought so. Should give us some cover to find the missus, right?"

"Right," Rusty sighed. "Let's start upstairs."

* * *

><p>All of her beautiful cars. All of her lovely, lovely cars. Up in smoke. Carol couldn't believe it. Chris was standing next to her, his mouth gaping and there were a couple of their men also looking gormless. Carol grabbed one of them.<p>

"Find out how this happened," she snapped.

Time to get back to Michael. Not that she was in the mood for company now. She was going to have to make a polite excuse and bundle him off in a taxi and maybe tomorrow they could pick things up.

She walked into the drawing-room ready to make apologetic promises and stopped dead.

Michael wasn't there.

* * *

><p>Chris huffed his way up the stairs and back to Henry. He had no idea what the car explosions were about but he didn't like them. He wanted to conclude this business with Henry as soon as he could and if Henry wasn't going to let himself be bought, then Chris could move to strongarm techniques. They'd never failed before.<p>

Only trouble was, when he got back to where he'd left Henry, Henry wasn't there.

* * *

><p>Danny had headed down the back staircase. Kitchen, he figured. Somewhere with water and dogfood. That made sense. He pushed open the door.<p>

"Tiny Tim?" he whispered into the darkness.

There was a low moan and Danny started. That wasn't a dog. And then there was a little whimper which sounded just like a dog. He hit the lights and there on the floor was an extremely pregnant woman clutching a Chihuahua. She squinted up at Danny.

"You work for the Halls?" she panted.

"No," he answered honestly.

"Good. Get your arse over here and help me. My waters have broken."

* * *

><p>They were supposed to rendezvous with Basher outside. Rusty hoped Danny was still on track to do that. He and Joe were nowhere near. They'd scooted through the upstairs rooms and headed for the front stairs, managing to dive behind the landing drapes to avoid detection as first Carol and then Chris reascended.<p>

Downstairs, they'd tried the front room and the dining-room and the little studies and then they opened the kitchen door to find the unlikely sight of Danny cuddling a Chihuahua and a blonde lady cuddling a baby wrapped up in Danny's jacket.

"Mary!" Joe's face lit up. "You OK?"

"Am now, lover," Mary beamed.

Rusty cleared his throat. "Moving might be a good idea," he suggested. "The proverbial's about to hit the fan."

"Back door," Danny nodded.

"I'm on it." Rusty knelt before the lock to pick it but found it open.

"How'd you think I got in here?" Mary said scornfully.

* * *

><p>The Kings had insisted on throwing a pre-Christmas Christmas party at the <em>Star of the Orient <em>to celebrate.

The Halls had more things on their minds than collecting the extortion money. All of the cars had gone up in smoke, all of their funds had disappeared into a Scotland Yard account together with an anonymous communication suggesting that investigation might be in order: all was well.

Danny glanced happily round the table which was laden with Chinese food. Everyone was in good spirits and Tiny Tim was busy making little yaps of happiness as he circumnavigated people's feet in search of dropped food.

"What's making you smile?" Rusty murmured.

Danny gestured with his beer bottle to the opposite side of the table. "Three Kings of the _Orient_, Tarr…"

Rusty groaned.

_They don't get any better._

He looked thoughtfully at Danny. "So, Mary had a baby boy in the Stables." A beat. "She calling it-"

"Daniel," Danny said brightly.

_Huh._

Tiny Tim chose that moment to launch himself onto Danny's lap and make himself comfortable.

"That's a look you can really carry off," Rusty told him.

Danny scowled and surreptitiously fed Tiny Tim a spring roll.

* * *

><p>Afterwards and they walked out with Basher into the frosty air.<p>

"You two really got to fly back tomorrow?" Basher asked. "You could stay for Christmas. We could find a turkey."

"Sorry, Bash, but we said we'd have Christmas with Reuben," Rusty said. "He's got some new acts at the Xanadu that he wants an opinion on."

"Maybe next year," Basher said, accepting.

"Maybe," Danny smiled. There was a world of possibility out there.

A shooting star blazed through the night sky in front of them.

"Ah, make a wish!" Basher exclaimed.

Rusty grinned. "That's very-"

"Pinocchio."

"-Rose Royce," Rusty finished, the grin growing wider as he turned to look at Danny.

_You watch _way_ too much Disney._

Unconcerned, Danny shrugged.

_We're gonna make a wish anyway, right?_

They made a wish anyway.


End file.
